Three Tales, One Story
by Spider Milkshake
Summary: Wise beasts know that even the same story will differ depending on who tells it. When a snowstorm strikes Mossflower, two foes are forced to shelter together. They soon do what anybeasts will to amuse themselves: Tell their tales. But what will happen when both sides tell the same story? WARNING: REDWALL-ESQUE VIOLENCE. I assume if you're in this section you can handle that.
1. To Be Lost In A Cave With Nothing To Do

Three Tales, One Story

In the Tradition of Brian Jacques's Redwall Novels

* * *

Prolouge:

To Be Lost In A Cave With Nothing To Do

* * *

Tigand had no idea how long they had huddled together for warmth in the icy stone crevice. Hours seemed like days, and days? He didn't know about those anymore. He lost count at six, however many days ago that was. The homely simpleton and his family of four others, two daughters, a son, and a caring wife. Traveling with the five woodmice was a large gray squirrel, though Tigand had not heard a word from him for... well, it was an amount of time that had to be less than a day, but other than that the mouse did not know. He could glimpse through the massed bodies of his family the form of Kellos Silverbirch. The squirrel was lying on the frosted floor slightly away from them. Not a sound except their ragged breathing broke the deep earth silence.

Tigand's eldest daughter had been the closest friend to the tough squirrel. She was now inconsolable, convinced that Kellos was dead from the freezing cold. Ready to slip away herself, she drifted into a half-dream, half-vision of a place far away.

Trees in their Autumn garb swayed in the buffeting winds, not quite willing to release their scarlet and orange leaves to it just yet. A stream ran through the green-grassed gully, little more than a trickle of a drainage from the nearby mountains of the western coast, but it was more than enough. A tiny mousemaid and a squirrel kit several seasons older were splashing about, giggling as their footpaws squelched the sticky bottom mud. Soon the young squirrel was throwing mudballs, and the mousemaid was squealing to get away, though she was truly laughing the whole time.

"Hah-hah! Gotcha Lima!" the squirrel said in triumph. The mousemaid gave a squeak as a gob of mud spattered over her blouse.

"Eeeew, Kellos, ya gots mud all ova me!"

Young Kellos did not seem to heed her distress, and instead of immediately behaving himself he scooped up another mound of mud and grinned devilishly.

"I know! That's th' game, silly!"

Thrusting itself through the happy vision, the head of a large ruddy-brown furred vixen loomed large in Lima's sight. The mousemaiden did not think she had the strength to scream, so instead buried her face back in her mother's cloak sleeve and waited for her torment to be all over.

It took Tigand a moment to realize the vulpine figure was no illusion as well. Sitting stock upright and rubbing his eyes hard with the backs of both paws, he gazed wildly at the creature standing stooped in the small passage leading out into the storm. The beast was flecked with snow and wearing a thick parka that looked to be made at least partially of rabbits' fur, together with snug wool leggings. Another fox entered, dressed similarly but this one a smaller male. Then a third came into their midst, him a larger male and wearing a black cloak along with fur parka and leggings. All three had dark green eyes like shadowy pieces of jade, and prominent black markings around their eyes as if somebeast had painted them on.

"This chamber is taken, Chief."

"I can see that," the big male snapped at the smaller one. The vixen stepped closer to the prone form of the gray squirrel, leaning over him curiously and placing a paw flat on his chest. "We'll just make them scoot over, then."

"Wh-what do you vermin want?!" Tigand strove to put up a bold front in the hopes to evict the intruding foxes, but he could not keep himself from shivering. The big cloaked fox looked him over with hard eyes.

"Who do you think you're calling 'vermin'?" he said, "We are foxes, you see. Not vermin. Now, are you to do your duty as a fellow woodlander and offer us a seat through this storm?"

Tigand noticed for the first time that none of the foxes were armed. The only things at their belts were pouches and traveling flasks. Grudgingly he motioned for them to take up the floor on the opposite side of the cave chamber as his family. Lima gave a late sob of fear.

"That's better." the chief of the foxes smiled. The vixen was still occupied with Kellos's limp body, "How goes that one?"

"Better than I thought, when first I saw this treejumper," she answered, lifting the arboreal rodent's head up and resting it on her knee, "He is cold but alive. I shall use my powders to warm him, methinks..."

"What are you going to do..?" Tigand challenged her uneasily. The vixen gave a short reassuring smile.

"I will place powders on him which when put together make a great heat." she explained, "It will do well to revive your friend."

"It had better!" the mouse growled, his hostility a mere front. He knew that in his condition he would have no hope in fending off three good-sized foxes, especially when he had to keep them from his family and the inert Kellos.

The vixen seemed to ignore him. She went on ahead with her administrations, taking out several small pouches filled with brownish-gray powder and spreading it thinly on the body. Then a layer of whitish-silver powder was added to the patient. Tigand stared hard at the places where the two were meeting but saw nothing happen. He shouted angrily as if betrayed.

"Liar! I bet you've poisoned him!" the vixen took a step back, her paws up in a calming gesture.

"Keep thy tongue! Give the reaction more time, my friend. Your friend will wake, and then you will see that I am truthful," she said. The cheif fox snorted.

"Now that we all hate each other," he grinned. "Why don't we bother to learn each other's names? I think that we may be here together a good while."

The younger fox nodded sadly, listening to a distant puff of the howling winds outside.

"I'm Tigand, woodlander and friend of Redwall Abbey. This is my family." he said. He glared as he spoke the words "Redwall Abbey", as if hoping the name would set off a frightful reaction among the maligned beasts. But the foxes batted not an eye. "My wife, Twinflower. My sons, Keemo and Koffera. My daughter, Lima. And that is our companion, Kellos Silverbirch."

"I see. A pleasure," the Chieftain said, not looking nearly as pleased as he had expressed. "We are three of the tribe of the Waterfoxes. I am Chief Euran, this is my healer, Sitra. And here is my son, Ioran."

"A pleasure." the mouse gritted his teeth. Ioran the young fox stretched languidly and yawned, showing every one of his cream-colored fangs.

"Do you have vittles?" he asked. Chief Euran cuffed his ear roughly.

"What a thing to ask of these wayfarers!" he growled, "Of course they have none. We shall share ours if need be. Let your elders and betters do the talking."

"Aye, cub. Do as thy father commands."

Ioran slumped, tailbrush whipping and chin resting on fists.

"What're we supposed to do in this dank cave, then?" he said. "Couldn't we at least have a story to drive away this nasty silence?"

Euran looked about to strike the younger fox again when he stopped. Turning with a strange look on his face to Sitra, he nodded.

"Aye, 'twould do well to occupy us," he said. "Very well! Do you know many stories, Sitra?"

"A great many. You have heard most of them, my Chief," she said. "I do have one which you did not hear over the hearth many seasons ago. I think now would be a good time to tell it..."

Lying on his side, Ioran the fox cub scooted closer to the family of mice, oblivious to their aversive stares and attempts to shrink away. Drawing in a breath of icy air, Sitra the Healer began her tale... Of the most revered figure in all of Mossflower history...

* * *

And so the tale begins! Be sure to review and tell me what you liked, or didn't like! I like both kinds of attention! *wink*


	2. The Vixen's Tale Begins

Three Tales, One Story

In the Tradition of Brian Jacques's Redwall Novels

* * *

Chapter 1:

The Healer's Tale Begins

* * *

No place but the Northlands held such a legendary status, home to both villainy and awe-inspiring heroism. Nobeast could dare to lay claim that the creatures of the North were not tougher, savvier, more cunning, and more fit to fight their way out of danger than the more relaxed tempers of the Middle Countries and the vast Southlands.

That was the main reason why nobeast thought to challenge the mouse warrior when he came down from the northern climes, a great battlesword strapped across his back, a faded lavender cloak tossed about by the wind. He never even blinked, though the fitful plains winds flicked it cruelly into his eyes. He stared straight ahead, pillaged in his own mind by the horrors of all the war and death he'd seen. There were rumors that the vagabond was cursed with the Bloodwrath, a terrible ailment which doomed a beast to solitude just as it would doom whichever beast was fool enough to get in a Bloodwrather's way. Everybeast with any sense in their skulls evaded an encounter with the warrior.

Though this wish was not always possible. Somebeasts had been merely living their lives when the warrior mouse set on them like a hurricane. His moods shifted like storm clouds, or sunlight through the mesh of a wheatfield. Such was the case of two weasels, hunting on a misted spring morning on the knoll above their den.

They had set out, armed with a pair of spears, looking for quail but accepting of other quarry should they encounter any. The pair sought the birds out among the berry bushes, whose fruits were either not present yet or hard and green. They didn't see much in the way of birdsign, so they were contenting themselves to watch the sun burn off the cloudy grey.

Then a robin landed in a thicket not far away. Becoming efficient, sleek and grim, the weasels had of course pursued. They were a pawslength from skewering the bird when a high piercing cry rent the air. They turned to find a stout figure pelting through the long grasses towards them, materializing from the mists.

One weasel survived the encounter; her mate was cleaved almost the moment he turned around to get a bearing on their attacker. The weaseless was not inclined to speak about the matter, becoming a withered hag and living alone for the rest of her days, but what she did say was not comforting:

"'Twas all th' bird's life, not mine not Brumby's. Now get offa my land."

Given this, news spread like wildfire across the lands between North and Mossflower. Whatever words could be said on the subject were gobbled up greedily in the taverns and tribedens. Our tribe, the Waterfoxes, also heard these tales. But we were more southerly at the time and did not think the mouse warrior would come to us.

* * *

"You are a fine storyteller," Euran beamed at his vixen. She bowed slightly sitting down. Ioran tapped his claws on the stony ground until Sitra resumed.

* * *

A season crept by, and no word arrived in the middlelands. So it was assumed the warrior had died. Perhaps he had taken on a foe that was too much even for him. As most living in those glades and hills and scrublands thought him mad, it was no surprise to them that he might assault a fighter of great caliber, deadly to even Bloodwrathing mice.

It was but one mouse, but a great deal of thought went into his state of being. And indeed, he was a great cause for concern to many. Some tribes wondered who would be next to feel his wrath.

It would so happen that a tribe lived on a great hill, almost halfway betwixt Northland and Mossflower. The creatures there all dwelt in tents, which they moved in the dry season to a small lake two leagues from the tor. All of the tribe were numbered at about fifty, and all were foxes, cousins to the Waterfox tribe from which we hail. They were seasoned hunters and skilled at crafts of all kinds. Their baskets woven of rushgrass made it to markets on the south of the continent, which was no mean feat for a tiny tribe on the frosty end of a great landmass.

The chief of this tribe was called Audyl. He was best known for his nose, which was uncommonly black in color even though the rest of him was a fabulous pale orange. His eyes, also orange, were quick to laugh and jest with his tribesbeasts. Close friends gave him the nickname "Cyndernose", which he was eager to go by as it brought attention to his best feature. Though young he had a quick wit, and was eager to use it.

That morning a runner came into Audyl's tent whilst he was gaming with several of his hunters, playing shell and acorn on a section of trunk.

"What's th' matter?" the Chief said. The runner struggled to gain his breath as he answered.

"My Lord, a lone figger approaches from th' north," he gulped visibly, "Shall I tell our warriors to send him away?"

Audyl had already had quite a bit to drink that morning. He was known for a fox that liked his wine, but he would easily settle with ale or brandy or even strong cattail cane gin. The chief balked at the suggestion.

"What, turn him away? He's one beast, mate," he sniggered. "What harm could a loner do, eh? Betcha he just wants some comp'ny. Lead him in if he presents no arms!"

* * *

"Sounds surprisingly reasonable... fer a drunken vermin," said Kellos, coming swiftly awake and aware as Sitra's powders worked their magic. Ioren's nape rose visibly and he growled at the squirrel, but was stunned when the hefty creature growled back.

"I said to you beasts-_-_we are not vermin," Euran huffed. "Good to see you are alive. Now shut up and listen unless you want to be out cold again."

Kellos felt warrior blood stir up in his veins as he made as if to lunge at the big fox. Tigand's paw shooting up and catching him on the wrist was the only thing that stopped him.

"Stow it, mate. We're in no position to fight here." he said. The squirrel nodded and sat again, glaring hate at the Chieftain.

Sitra exchanged odd glances with the other vulpines and continued with her tale.

* * *

The pair of stoic-faced hunters Audyl had sent to welcome in the strangebeast were brothers, named Husken and Doren. Each carried a long slim spear, the blade of which possessed a long barb on the left side but was like an ordinary polearm on the right. They stood side by side at the point on the edge of the tribal lands where they knew the figure would have to cross through, where the hill met another and a tempting path ran up it through the waving sedge.

As the beast came closer they could tell it was a mouse. A strong male, clad in ragged purple tunic and cloak, with a large and dangerous-looking sword at his back. The brothers exchanged glances, knowing of the rumors.

"Halt," Husken called to the mouse as he neared a ditch, ten pawsteps away from the pair, "How goes it, traveler?"

The mouse glared out at them from deep brown unblinking eyes. Doren shuddered, but hid it and clenched his spear's haft tighter.

"I'm going this way," the mouse said, "So you'd best move if you want to keep your lives, mangefurs."

"Hold on a tic," Doren said while narrowing his eyes, "Yore on our land an' we greeted you civilly enough. Follow our laws or suffer our punishments!"

"I follow no laws of _vermin_," the mouse retorted, baring teeth, "I'm going to pass!"

The mouse took a step in their direction, to which the hunters were forced to lower their war spears at him. The mouse stopped short and snarled at them, paw itching to reach for his sword.

" No vermin impedes me and lives!"

"Half a minute!" Huskem scoffed, keeping his spear leveled at the mouse's chest, "You don't even know us, our tribe, our chief, our names! We don't know you and so until you got on yore shoutin' an' carryin' on we weren't foes at all!" he took a step toward the headstrong creature, "So what reason have ya to challenge our most basic of demands? We were sent 'ere to greet you an' take you to our Chief for a goodwill meeting!"

The mouse said nothing, then slowly drew out the long sword. It was pitted and rusty, looking as if nobeast had ever thought to clean or polish it in a long while. Drawing back his lips in a full-on battle cry, the mouse answered them fiercely.

"My reason is... that I am Martin the Warrior! Son of Luke the Warrior! And I never back down to tyrants or vermin!"

* * *

"You filthy piece of-_-_" This time it was Tigand who had to be restrained by Kellos. The mouse was absolutely livid, his eyes widened and bloodshot and his lips drawn back in full snarl. "How dare you smear the name of the Warrior..!"

Sitra paused and looked over with concern in her jade eyes. She sent a questing paw into her beltpouches and drew out a small tin flask.

"Calm yourself," she said sweetly, handing the flask over to the straining mouse. "One can be easily upset when dehydrated..."

"Easily upset?!" Tigand yelled. The young mice quivered but poked their heads up, staring wide-eyed at daddy. "You just called our greatest hero a berserking home-wrecker with no regard for boundaries!"

Sitra nodded.

"Maybe that is indeed part of who he is."

Tigand had to be restrained again. Chief Eoren guffawed loudly and banged a paw on the stones.

"This is something, isn't it then?" he grinned, "Continue, Sitra. I want to know more of this Martin." he winked, "He sounds like my kind of beast."


	3. Cyndernose and Warriormouse

Three Tales, One Story

In the Tradition of Brian Jacques's Redwall Novels

* * *

Chapter 2:

Cyndernose and Warriormouse

* * *

Husken and Doren were battered under the blows of the sword, their crossed war spears the only thing between them and certain death. The warriormouse's face was contorted into a snarl and suffused with blood behind his light tawny fur. Each strike that he dealt released another fierce cry. The foxes had been forced back into a stand of trees, and Doren's footpaw began to slip.

"Hold there!" a voice cried out, and to the brothers' surprise, the mouse paused his attack and looked up to the crest of the hill. The grand figure of an obvious Chieftain stood there, flanked on each side by five more warrior foxes. Audyl's silver cape swirled as a gust of wind rolled across the land, and his black nose blotted the sun's light, drawing the eye o the stranger directly to his face. His brows were raised questioningly over his orange eyes. "What's the meaning of this?" he looked to his two foxes. "What insult did ya throw about to get him so fired up?"

"We did nothing of the sort!" Husken swore up and down, "We just asked him to come into our camp for a goodwill meeting, and asked him how it goes. He says he won't follow our rules because we're _vermin_."

The warriormouse glared up at the fox Chieftan, noting the long dagger at one side of his waist and the long-handled axe strapped to the back of his belt. He narrowed his stormy eyes and briefly pointed his sword at the fox.

"I am Martin, son of Luke," he growled out, "And I do not back down to vermin!"

Audyl blinked and gave a short chuckle. His hunters gazed at him incredulously but did not say a word. Finally the fox pointed a claw at the mouse.

"Hahah, I like this one. Bold as brass tacks and just as prickly!" he guffawed loudly and wobbled slightly on his footpaws, "Come now, Martin, wouldn't you like a quick quaff an' some vittles to tide you over another leg of yore journey? You must be tired, walking everyplace all the way from the North. Come, let's us two have a chat."

Martin shifted away from the fox's outstretched hand, sniffing. He could tell that the vulpine creature was very plainly drunk, but was not sure how that affected how likely this fox was to be deceiving him.

"You must swear on your honor," he demanded, "That no foul tricks or untoward deeds will be done while we do so. You will drink and eat first!"

"Oho? Suspect me to be a poisoner? Very well, 'tis bad manners, but I will gorge myself if you so please," the fox smirked, bowing slightly. On standing back up the edge of his cape was caught under his footpaw and he tripped, sprawling backwards into a tussock of grass. The foxes gave a collective gasp, but Audyl's head popped up a minute later with a broad grin on his blackened face, "Whoops!"

Martin stood stunned as the brother foxes gently coaxed him into following the crowd guiding the stumbling Chief along. Shaking his head to clear it, he sheathed the blade and shoved the two away so that he could walk on his own way, unaided.

* * *

"See? We toldja we wouldn't make Martin all bad," Ioren snickered. The three little mice scowled at him, making rude faces. Lima added a parting shot:

"Yeah, well it's hard to make him look bad when the other characters are only vermin!"

Ioren pretended the comment hadn't hurt and crossed his arms.

"Shush!" Euren growled, eying his son. "Shut up and listen..."

* * *

Inside the tent of the Chief a goodly spread had been laid out for the two, all products of the foxes' harvest and hunting. A large roasted field quail sat in the center with steam rising off of its crusty brown skin, and all around platters and bowls of fruits, salted nuts, and fine breads and cheeses decorated the table. Two large flagons stood empty on either side of the stump. A small cask of blackberry wine sat turned on its side on a rack nearby, not yet broken into. The fox bade his guest sit and then did so in turn, smiling cheerfully at the anxious rodent.

"Well, as promised," the fox tapped the bung home in the top of the cask of wine, holding his flagon beneath it and filling it to the brim, "I shall drink and eat first, to save you a bit of worryin'."

Audyl tilted his head back and drained the vessel rapidly, then set it clumsily down beside him with a foolish smile. He reached out and took a small white pear in his claw and took a dainty bite. Martin eyed the food warily, but filled his flagon about halfway. There was no conceivable means to poison a beast out of a full and untapped cask. He sipped the good wine, watching the fox glut himself.

"I take it you are the Chief of this rabble." he said. The fox put down the leg of the bird and laughed.

"Aye, that I am. Hah, 'rabble'!" he shook his head, "One would think they'd know a 'tribe' when they see one. Ah, well. Must not have come from any tirbe, eh?"

Martin glared hotly straight into the fox's eyes.

"I prefer not to answer."

"Very well, very well," the fox left it be, "Hellsteeth, I forgot to introduce myself! I am called Audyl by some, Cyndernose by most. I am Chieftain of this fine bunch of brushtails."

"I see..." Martin's eyes were drawn to the fox's black snout. He toyed with one of the bowls of almonds, "Why have you invited me here with no pretense? You must have some reason to want a goodbeast in your camp."

"I have plenty of good beasts in my camp," Audyl smirked, then laughed raucously, "But why does this surprise you? No squirrel would need a pretense in your mind, though some certainly would have it." The fox refilled his flagon with dark rich wine, "Though I do have a favor to ask. One freebeast to another."

Martin's guard was up immediately. He longed to feel the hilt of his blade in paw.

"Favor?"

"Aye, a favor." the fox nodded. He was not smiling, "Though I am a Chieftain, I do not have all the power I need sometimes. I need a fellah who can... do something my warriors cannot."

"Get to the point, fox."

"Well," Audyl spoke between gulps of wine, "The 'point' is exactly right. Somebeast has been doin' something I don't very well appreciate on my tribe's lands." He scratched an ear, "Something rather nasty, but I'm sure a tough beast like you can handle it."

Martin quickly grew tired of the fox's routine, but he played along for a while, forgetting himself and munching on candied chestnuts.

"Keep going."

"I need somebeast that can relate to our tribe's little visitor," Audyl came out with it, "Meaning, I need a goodbeast to help me. No fox of mine could get close."

"You are such a vermin," Martin clenched his teeth, "Conspiring to use me to the downfall of another goodbeast!"

"Oh?" the fox chuckled, sipping more wine, "I'd save those kinds of words if I were you. You don't have any idea the wickedness of this creature." He snorted, taking a leisurely bite from the bird's leg, "Care to listen to what I'm about to say as opposed to blundering forward and interrupting me?"

"Yes." the mouse muttered.

"Good. What you are about to hear is not a very pleasant account, but it must be heard. You must understand the full magnitude of his evil..."

* * *

"He ain't gonna help that nasty fossker!" Keemo the mousebabe shouted. Tigand frantically tried to shush him, placing a paw over the Dibbun's mouth.

"He didn't mean it," the mouse said quickly. Euren narrowed his eyes but waved the vixen to continue. Ioren sniggered and reached out to touch Kellos's tailbrush, but the squirrel rounded and frightened the fox cub backwards.

"Don't ye dare!"

"I wish to continue..." Sitra said.

"Then do it!" the Chief growled, glaring at the squirrel with daggers in his eyes. The mood settled. Tigand's wife quietly found that she could move her paws without pain.

* * *

Audyl went into detail about the deranged beast he was seeking to do away with, even showing Martin the Warrior many victims from his own tribe. He also showed him pieces they had been able to recover. The mouse stared hard at the shriveled remains of a fox's tail, trying to judge whether it was fabricated or not.

"As you see, this has been befalling my foxes." Audyl waved a paw over the body parts laid out on a burial shroud, "And it's not just my tribe. I have seen otters, mice, some rats...Any creature caught wandering in the open at night."

Martin gazed down at one tail which did not belong. It clearly belonged to a dormouse. The mouse shook his head.

"I still don't think I should help vermin." he said, "Vermin have been nothing but vile since the dawn of the ages. I have never met one that has not tried to harm me or my family."

"What of us?" the fox asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You have not... yet." the warriormouse admitted. Audyl smiled and laughed, shaking his lowered head.

"You just can't help yoreself, can you?" he paced over to the opposite of the slab, folding the shroud over the evidence of the mutilations, "Very well, I'll prove to you that foxes can be honorable beasts. Stay here the night. Keep up on guard for yore life if you want. Or take some rest. Whichever you choose, you'll know who to help by morning."

As the Chieftan turned his back and began walking away, the mouse took a step after him. Two warriorfoxes sprang up, ready to put themselves in harm's way. The fox with the sooty nose turned back and grinned at the mouse's insulted look.

"Well," he chuckled, "Now you know the feelin'..."

* * *

Mesmerized, the mice and squirrel barely noticed when the young fox Ioren slipped a loaf of bread from the satchel on his back, breaking it into pieces and handing it out to them.

"Why are we eating?" Lima asked, gingerly accepting her piece with a shaky paw.

"Because," Chief Euren snorted, "Food keeps the warmth in you. It's been over two hours since we got in here. Might as well fuel the fires..."

The mice found themselves in an uneasy agreeance with their once mortal enemies.


	4. Heaghan Light

Three Tales, One Story

In the Tradition of Brian Jacques's Redwall Novels

* * *

Chapter 3:

Heaghan Light

* * *

The warrior brooded all night. He listened to the snuffles and snores of foxes in nearby tents as he sat awake in his own, one the fox Chieftain had allowed him to borrow.

He had checked it thoroughly for traps and was shocked to find none; no poison on kindly left out wine, no sharp objects contrived so that they would pop free of the sleeping pallet and stab whichever beast lay there in the back. He supposed if they had wanted to kill him they would have done so earlier, while he had been surrounded by over a dozen of the well-armed vermin. Leaning on the water barrel in the center of the shelter Martin stared up at an amberfly trapped under the canvas, fluttering its delicate dun wings in vain, stubbornly refusing to use the smoke vent just to its right. No, it continued trying to escape from that one point in the fabric.

Maybe he was going about it wrong. If he did not sleep he would be ripe for ambushes on the morrow. The friendliness of these foxes was a fluke of nature that could not be explained, and that was that. He lay down on the pallet, which was unbelievably soft as it was stuffed with goose and scaup ducks' down.

* * *

Dawn broke with a grey pallor hanging over all. The first thing Martin noticed when he emerged from his tent was the somber faces of four older vixens loitering nearby. One was choking back sobs; Martin could not tell why. Standing before one of the wrinkled, beshawled beasts the Warrior spoke.

"What is the matter?" he said. The vixen he was nearest to bobbed her head and drew her crimson silk shawl about her against the cool breeze.

"The Bone-Collector hath struck again," she answered. A different vixen, this one dressed in a blue shawl, indicated a healers' tent. Low moans were issuing forth from it, together with hurried murmurs of tense conversation. Before the warriormouse could investigate himself he spotted Chief Audyl approaching with a pair of hunters carrying curved swords and daggers at their waists.

"Good morning," the fox said, his mood sober even though he certainly wasn't, "Though I can't say that about last night. I gather somebeast told ya."

"The beast that does these acts," Martin began, "You call him the Bone-Collector. Why?"

The mouse noted how the withered vixens and tough hunters alike shrank back and winced upon hearing the hated title. Audyl ran a paw through his ginger headfur.

"Aye, we call him, or her, that name," he said, "We know not any other. You remember those tails I showed ya?"

"Aye."

"There were no bones in any of them. Th' villain took them out before discardin' 'em," Audyl bared his teeth slightly, "Why it's tails I have no earthly idea. P'raps it's because th' beast knows that th' tail is the most painful part to lose."

Martin suppressed a shudder. He was slowly finding a kinship with these vermin, though vermin they indeed were. Then he remembered something that made him frown.

"Why do you need me? You sound as if you don't know who or what this beast is. How then would my being a goodbeast help if they turn out to be a vermin?"

Audyl rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, we said 'he or she'," he said, "Not that we didn't know the species."

Martin felt his gorge rise. How a goodbeast could do such a thing-it paralyzed his very thoughts.

"What is the creature?" he finally said.

"...The Bone-Collector has been reported as a rabbit or hare."

"Ridiculous!" Martin scoffed, "A hare would do no such thing."

"Oh, I think they would," Audyl smirked, "Do ya not know they're called 'perilous'? What d'you think that word means, eh?" The fox shook his head and answered his own question, "It means 'dangerous', 'bloodthirsty', 'vicious', 'not safe to be around'. I think that alone is telling enough. Certainly of a race of reportedly deadly beasts one is bound to do its work for evil."

Martin did not let his rage cloud his judgement this time. Turning heatedly away, he strode south.

"I've had quite enough of this." he said, "I'm going. Deal with your own Bone-Collector."

"Wait, please," the old vixen who was quietly crying stood, "You cannot leave! You are our first hope of freedom! We fear being by ourselves, we fear being out at dusk. Please, you are the first warrior come our way that even agreed to hear us."

Martin turned back, hearing something in the old beast's voice which stirred something long burried in him. Her face, streaming with drying tears and weighted with oppression reminded him of another he had known so long ago. He hesitated.

"You are a good creature, yes?" the vixen continued, shuffling up to the mouse, "Please, if you have any heart in you, help us poor creatures who cannot defend ourselves from this monster. My son..." she choked, "Th-the beast in the healers' tent...he is..."

Martin put together what the old one was saying and felt a twinge of pity. How could he think of doing such a thing, leaving creatures trapped by fear to their fate? No matter what they were, it was not the deed of an honorable warrior to ignore them. They had not yet harmed him, and he found it hard to label this pleading pitiful figure before him as simply "vermin". The mouse without his knowing reached out and grasped the wizened paw she had outstretched towards him.

"I think I will stay and hear more," he said. "I... want to be sure that I'm not leaving you in a hopeless place. I think I must at least meet this hare before I decide to leave."

The vixen collapsed to her knees in adoring gratefulness, clasping the mouse Warrior's paws tightly and kissing them as she sobbed out her thanks.

"Please," he said, uncomfortably extricating his paws, "I don't deserve such treatment. I was going to leave your tribe to its fate."

"But you have not!" she cried, raising her paws to his face like he was a Messiah, "Bless you, young one. You have a heart and a warrior's resolve. Blessed are you, Martin the Warrior!"

"That's enough, Zima," The Chief fox patted her on the shoulder, "I think the healers are done administering to yore son. You may see him now."

Zima the vixen stood hastily and bowed, but towards Audyl or Martin it was hard to tell. She hobbled off through the jungle of canvas, towards the now-quiet healers' tent.

Cyndernose gave a slight sigh and addressed the Warrior.

"Well, you certainly made an impression on her," he chuckled dryly, "Come, let us break fast in my tent, then I shall lead you to this hare, the Bone-Collector. This morning you will see exactly why I need yore help, Martin."

* * *

Far away, over the hills and dales of the middleland scrubs, a lone beast squatted and toiled in their vegetable patch, pulling out the odd piece of intrusive henbit and tossing it over their shoulder. Nearby, built into the bank of a high chalky down, was a tunnel entrance that led to an underground dwelling, homely and simple, just enough for the recluse.

"Oi, ee git outten ee gardin, narsty henbitter...!" the mole grunted, tossing another bit of vegetation to the winds. "Burr, et be too windy yurr..."

The farmer's grumblings ceased as he looked up to take a brief pull at his flask. A curious-looking hare wearing a simple kilt of barkcloth and a bandanna covering most of his face was standing as if waiting for the mole to see him. Blinking his small eyes the mole examined the intruder. He was an odd color to be sure, something between dust and slate, but not quite gray or brown. He was almost atrociously skinny and his amber eyes popped out of the slight shadow the bandanna cast over his face. There was also something else, but the mole was lost for the answer. Something was very wrong with the hare... but what?

"Guid mornin', stranger," the farmer straightened up, brushing soil from his trousers. His guest was a hare, albeit an odd one, but the fact that hares were good sorts had never failed him and he had no reason to start doubting now. "Whurr you be cummin' frum? Oi 'adn't noticed yurr comin' oop."

"Oh, thither an' yon, y'know," the hare giggled, his accent comfortingly hareish. "Name's Heaghan Light, ol' top, pleased ter meetcha. I say, 'ave you got th' kettle on?"

The mole chuckled and waved him over to the burrow with a hefty digging claw.

"Oi surpintly do, if'n you loik leek 'n' cauliflorr zoop with dannelion an' burdock water to go with et."

"Capital!" the hare winked, distorting the bandanna. As he took leggy strides to catch up with the mole he coughed for the creature's attention, "Ah, pardon me, ol' chap, an' hate to ask such a bally dreadful query... 'Ave you spied any foxes roundabouts of late?"

"Fosskes?" the mole shook his head a vigorous no, "Nay, zurr. If Oi'd been seein' fosskes or any other vurmints Oi'd be arf a league arfter 'em with moi gurt stick, burr aye."

Heaghan Light let a slow smile spread across his face as he allowed the mole to enter the solitary dwelling first. Behind the goodbeast's back the hare drew a large knife from the back of his kilt's belt.

"Good..!" he said, and followed his unfortunate Samaritan in.

* * *

Ioren and Euren yawned simultaneously, but kept their eyes open as Sitra took a break to wet her throat with a flask at her waist. Kellos nudged the younger fox in the ribs.

"Any goin' spare, brushtails?"

Tigand and his wife Twinflower both glared at their rough companion, but the cub seemed to take no offense, instead handing over a flask to the gray beast. Lima curled up tighter against the squirrel's brush, fighting waves of weariness. Catching on to his daughter's distress, the mouse father held up a paw to stay the vixen continuing.

"Mayhap we should break off for some sleep." he said. The fox Chief gave him a hard look.

"You realize how cold it is? We'd never wake." he snorted. As much as the gray squirrel disliked the Chieftan he had to agree.

"Aye, we'd need a fire to be safe in doin' that," he said, "An' I don't see us lightin' a fire in this little chamber. We'd lose all our air."

"What do we do then?" Tigand said with a shiver.

"We keep listening." Kellos answered him, "It'll keep our brains warm at least."

Sitra waiting calmly, not showing any signs of the cold bothering her, for the two rodents to quiet before continuing the lost saga.


	5. A Devil In Fur

Three Tales, One Story

In the Tradition of Brian Jacques's Redwall Novels

* * *

Chapter 4:

A Devil In Fur

* * *

Two had been chosen among Audyl's tribesbeasts, the two most dutiful young hunters with the most raw fighting skill for their age. Those two turned out to be Husken and Doren. The fox brothers led the warriormouse out of the tribe's lands, into a deep dale that ran east to west through a ways of grassland. It appeared to be the only cover for miles. Martin did not blame them for seeking the most secret option, given the fearful times and their highly dangerous task.

Cyndernose himself came a short distance into the dale, waving them off. Before he went back to running his creatures' daily routines, he leaned in close and whispered a final warning to the mouse.

"Listen, Martin," he said, "I'm trustin' you here. Some folks consider you mad."

"I am no madbeast," Martin whispered back.

"Aye, I know, but listen anyways," the fox continued, "When th' time comes to do't, don't hesitate. If ya do... it might be the death of ya."

With that the sooty-nosed fox drew away, his silvery cloak swirling as he trotted back down the natural path of the gorge. Martin stared at him oddly, setting his jaw in a tight line. He knew full well what the Chieftain had meant by "do it". The fox had meant "assassinate the Bone-Collector". The Warriormouse had killed numerous times before. He had slain hundreds of beasts. But he never thought of himself as an assassin, a swift dealer in sudden death. Even for a noble cause, the thought seemed sickly and depraved.

Shaking his head and unstopping the cork canteen Zima the vixen had gifted him, Martin forced the thoughts down and concentrated on trekking on with his two companions. Even the idea of foxes as companions struck him as odd. A day ago he may have slain the well-armed, camouflaged pair as roving brigands. Now he was a brother-in-arms with them.

Husken and Doren had switched out their cumbersome war spears for much lighter weapons. Each carried an identical curved sword, hunting dagger, and sling constructed of strips of rawhide. The pair were efficient and sleek travelers, slipping up rockfalls and loping with ease over hillock and decline alike. The two had obviously been well-trained.

For two hours Husken had the lead position. Then at mid day he raised a paw and halted, eyeing the sandy ground hard.

"Hold," he called, "Tracks."

Doren darted over, careful not to disturb the minute markings in his haste.

"Aye, hare tracks," Doren confirmed. He traced a line around the broad impression with a claw, "Big 'uns, too. We might have th' bastard here..."

"Could be any hare," Husken reminded him, "You know there's lots round here."

"Aye."

Martin stepped up, getting a good look at the tracks' shape and nature thanks to Doren's tracing. He stooped next to the foxes and nodded.

"See the scar, there?" the mouse pointed out the telling detail, "The Bone-Collector's tracks have a scar like this?"

"Not that we know of, but these look awful promisin'," Doren informed him, "May have bit off more'n he could chew with one or two victims, maybe."

"No matter," Husken stood. He scanned the line of sky he could see over the canyon walls, "He's headed right for the eastern side of this gorge here. That would be th' way this beast was last seen goin'."

"Any lead's a good lead," Doren stood as well, jogging to the lead, "Watch my back. You never can tell."

Martin had thought the fox had more to say, about to finish the well-known phrase with the ending "with vermin" before he remembered that Doren essentially was whom the adage was referring to. Adjusting the strap of the canteen, the mouse rose and followed, stepping over the hare's track.

* * *

"Bah. A lull," Chief Euran snorted, leaning back against the walls of the cavern and chewing a hang-claw, "When does this Martin mouse get to slay the that scumtripe? It's been hours and so little has happened!"

Sitra bowed fawningly.

"My Lord, I was about to begin Martin's first encounter with the Bone-Collector just this moment." She said. Lima snuggled her face into Kellos' brush, seeking warmth. The squirrel noticed this but gamely ignored it, instead turning aside to the fox cub on the opposite side.

"Yore Chief always that impatient?" he asked. The kit sniggered.

"Heheh, aye, Da's always like that," the fox said around a piece of hardtack studded with doughy bits of dried fruit. The father fox heard but pretended to ignore his son's words, keeping his eyes on his healer's gestures as the story continued...

* * *

Another hour and the three trackers found themselves at the edge of a vast blueberry scrub, bordered by dried out chestnut trees and scattered over with loose shaley soil that slipped about underpaw. Though their going was much slower, they managed to skirt around the edge of the treacherous terrain until they reached the shade of a clump of the mostly-browned trees.

"So hot f'r Autumn," Husken growled, flicking a teasing ladybird beetle from his cheek, "Like a backwards season, this. Keeps gettin' warmer the closer to winter. Queer happenings, mate. Bad news, the elders say."

"It is hot," Martin panted, seeking his canteen once more. "I've never felt this kind of heat before. It is always this warm in Summer then?"

"Aye, and hotter yet," the fox replied with a smile, unshouldering his own canteen as he came to rest under one of the larger trees, "Like last one, that nearly melted th' fur right off me. You remember that, brother?"

"You were wet," he snickered, "Never went in th' water, but you were soaked all day and night. Couldn't lose track of ya, always had the drip trail on th' ground..."

"Stop." Martin turned and cupped a paw to his ear, "You hear that?"

The foxes froze, and Doren put a cautionary paw on his sword's hilt. Husken's ears were all atwitch-_-_of the two foxes his senses were slightly superior.

"Somebeast singing," he translated the distant muffled tune, "Thataway." He pointed a black claw deeper into the glade, below the sight line of a high bank. Doren stood, silently drawing his blade, and the Warriormouse did likewise.

"Stay well down," he ordered, creeping into the tree shadows with the point of the blade held forward and low. Martin snuck along abeam him, two spearlengths or so away. Husken stood and followed after, keeping a close watch over his shoulder unless the tantalizing sound was a trap.

Martin could not help but bristle as he crept into range of the singing creature. The hair on his nape stood up like spikes as he looked down into a low shaded meadow ringed by low trees. Seated by a muddy spring was an odd figure, a bandanna over its harish face, wearing only a barkcloth kilt. It rocked and bobbed its head oddly while it worked at whatever was before it on a flat stone, its ears flopping loosely as if it had no control over them. The mouse warrior squinted; something else was wrong with the hare, but what? It was something obvious, he knew, but for the life of him he could not quite form the deformity into words.

Husken and Doren crept up alongside him, bellying down in the grass and herbaceous plants amid the trunks of several elders. Doren gawked, his brown eyes wide, completely speechless at the sight.

"That's him." Husken seethed, "He wears that cloth on his face so we don't recognize him, but we can tell. Idiot," the fox could barely contain the hatred in his voice.

"What's he up to..?", Doren quivered as he spoke, reaching for his sling as a precaution.

"He's got a tail," Husken said, pointing with his sword's lethal curved tip, "He's breakin' all the joints with th' rock he's got there. He kin take th' bones out easier that way."

Martin watched, horrified, as the hare smiled, picked up a blunt piece of shale, and began hammering on a mangled sable-furred nub of flesh on the flat stone before him. Each sharp blow was punctuated by a few words of a gleeful verse which the hare was singing in a reedy, off-key voice:

"Come an' join th' fun, little one,

Noontide is almost here,

Th' posies bloomin' in th' field

Could never be more dear.

Oh, but the life of posies

Is such a fleeting thing

Before too long, a lover's song

Then make you into rings."

At this point, the hare jerked his head up suddenly, and the three observers held their breath. For a second their hearts seemed to stop.

But their alarm was for naught; the hare went back to his perverse ditty:

"A maiden laid in a dirty ditch,

A searat in th' sea,

And some that never laid at all

All soon come back to me.

Oh, what a pretty bauble,

Spun of some honest earth,

That shames th' morbid posy

With its eternal worth!"

Martin stood slowly, earning a pair of strange looks from his companion. He whispered hastily to them while keeping an eye on the still-singing madbeast.

"Stay here, I'm going to go down to him," the Warriormouse touched the pommel of his sword reflexively, "If what your Chieftan Audyl says is true, he may well not be suspicious of me at first. Keep to the trees. If I need help I'll shout, but otherwise don't come anywhere near me. If he spots us together we may never get another chance again."

With understanding nods from the brothers, the warrior was off, sliding down the earthy embankment into the spring meadow as if traveling casually.

The hare glanced up as the powerful warrior approached, and after one long moment of nerve-wracking scrutiny he appeared to ignore Martin. However, the mouse was quick to note that the Bone-Collector had deftly picked up the severed tail and secreted it into a pouch on his belt of woven ropes.

"What ho, me good mousey matey," the hare winked. "Just when y' think y've found th' bally middle o' nowhere, somebeast strolls right up outta th' blue yonder!"

Martin was not sure what to say to this extended observation. He made a slight polite leg and tried to keep his eye from wandering to the hare's belt pouch very often.

"Good day to you, sir." he said, "I am Martin, son of Luke. Who are you, and why do you wander so close to lands held by verminous foxes?"

Deep in the scrub surrounding the meadow Husken grunted out a wry chuckle.

"Didn't know he could be canny, eh." the fox muttered. Doren was too busy watching the encounter and wringing his tailbrush to reply.

The hare smiled deeply, handsome dimples showing above where the bandanna did not cover. He stood and held out a paw for the mouse to shake, even though Martin was still understandably a few too many paces away.

"Name's Heaghan, ol' top. Heaghan Light t' th' propers." the hare chuckled. "Martin, eh? A fine warrior's name, doncha know. Are you some kinda slayer an' whatnot?"

"Aye, I am a warrior. I come from the North," was Martin's honest reply. He thought it best to humor the hare until he could be sure the lagomorphine was not planning to attack him in ambush. "Seems I'm lucky I found a goodbeast around here. Seen nothing but foxes and a few crows since morning."

"Foxes, eh?" the hare raised an eyebrow, then burst out laughing, "Oh, those silly sots. Th' numbskulls could chase me all day long an' never get this hare. I s'ppose it's th' same for you, eh, Martin?"

"Aye."

"Yore a beast o' few words, ain't ya?" the hare seemed mighty tickled, though the Warriormouse was puzzled and on guard as to what about. "Come along then. Might be able to conjure a bit o' healthy communication out o' you yet!" the hare bounded up, tossing the stone he had still been holding onto aside, beckoning with the other paw, "Come along! Couldn't hurt to have an early teatime, eh?"

Martin forced his face into a slight smile and likewise forced his legs to move him forward, following the hare along the trickling spring to wherever the beast was leading him. He was aware at all times the constant feeling of the brother foxes' eyes on him, and that was some comfort. He shook the thoughts away. What was he doing, succumbing to cowardice? A Warrior born is not meant to show fear of an enemy.

He would find it in himself to slay the Bone-Collector in some honorable fashion he vowed to himself. Husken and Doren crept through the treeshade yards away, never once letting their gaze wander from the retreating forms of friend and foe.

* * *

Tigand nudged Lima awake urgently. For a moment she did not respond, causing a well of panic to shoot up like barbed arrows through his whole chest.

"Lima?" he pinched her nose, and in a few moments she gasped herself awake, shivering as if to rattle the bones out of her own body. "Lima! Don't do that again! You mightn't have awoke again if I hadn't been so quick!"

Kellos tucked the quaking mousemaid under his arm and brushy tail. Ioren peered over his flask with a look of concern.

"Ya know, if we all bunched closer we might all be bit better off here," he suggested. Euran sneered, letting a single white fang be seen. Sitra abruptly halted her story-telling and nodded, rummaging in her many belt pouches.

"I think it time to use this," she murmured, drawing out a tiny pouch and untying the drawstrings carefully. Inside was a grainy dark substance. "Everybeast take thou a single pinch..."

"Ah, not yore roots and herbs mumbo-jumbo agin, "Euran rolled his eyes. Kellos eyed him strongly and readily accepted a small portion of the material from the vixen's paw. He proceeded to pass equal divisions of his amount to the others on that side of the crevice.

"I dunno about 'mumbo-jumbo' there. They all seem to work fine." The squirrel awaited instructions from the vixen healer. Euran snorted as he accepted his quantity of mystery powder.

"Place it on thy tongue." she instructed, "Thou shalt not sleep while it works. We may thus survive a day hence."

"Pretty clever," Silverbirch said as he administered the stuff to the clinging mousemaid. Sitra nodded and accepted the compliment, waiting until all had taken the strange medicine before continuing the tale.

Outside, the wind began to die down. The snowfall increased and, in the distance, a tree that could take no more of the wretched cold shattered into matchsticks.

* * *

Glossary for this one: "Lagomorphine"=The category on animals rabbits, hares and pika belong to. Like "rodent" or "musteline" or "feline". ;) For the biologically undertaught.


	6. Sad Bad Mad

Three Tales, One Story

In the Tradition of Brian Jacques's Redwall Novels

* * *

Chapter 5:

Sad Bad Mad

* * *

The hills, wooded by ash, oak, pine and spruce, went on and on as if forever. Martin the Warrior kept lightly touching the pommel of his blade, as if to reassure himself that it was still there. The hare leading him on was not silent; no, not at all silent. But it was hard to tell what, or who, the beast was even addressing.

"'Tis a capital morn for a bit of a run, wot?" the hare turned around and began loping along backwards. The mouse watched his feet as they somehow evaded every branch and leaf drift. He never once tripped or stumbled. "Though I'd be a bit more partial to a pair o' pasties, whaddya say, eh, milord Martin mouse?"

"Well, haven't had lunch yet," the warrior shrugged, eying the hare and trying to determine if he was even armed. He had yet to see a weapon, though surely he had a blade, if tails were taken from his terrified victims.

"Oh, but I have had a luncheon or two, laddie!" the hare winked. Were it not for the knowledge he had on the devious creature, Martin would have thought him just like any other hare in that moment. The very thought of what the goodbeast victims must have felt as the creature revealed his intentions to them made his stomach go into knots.

"Then why have a third?" Martin carried on with the disarming banter. There it was again, something wrong with the hare's physique. Was it that he was just too skinny? Martin squinted. No, the flaw, though he still couldn't place it, wasn't so obvious from where he was standing. He shook his head, reasoning that the perceived deformity was just a trick of his mind, twisting the hare's visage into a form he could stomach slaughtering.

"'Cuz it's jolly good, scoff!" he leaped atop a partially downed log, impressing the mouse with his althelic capabilities, "Th' old feedbag! Bally tea! Th' whole lot of it! If y' can eat it, must be bloody good, that's what I say, wot!"

Revulsion ran through the mouse's skin. He gamely forced a sickening image out of his mind. He forced himself to grin at the same time.

"Aye."

"Nothin' bad t' be said about an' old beaker of nutbrown ale!"

"Aye, that's true."

"Or a great whackin' load o' salad, sprinkled with white almond cheese!"

"Aye."

"I say," Heaghan turned to him strangely, leaning in unexpectedly close and startling the warrior, "You're bein' pretty bally silent. Y' hear somethin'?"

The mouse's mind raced. If he said no, what would happen? Especially if he said it too quickly. Now that was something that could rouse suspicion. But if he said yes... There was a real chance of the hare Heaghan hearing something, perhaps his two companions' movements in the brush.

Though if the hare did try to harm the two foxes, Martin would have no choice but to fight back. And though fighting for the sake of active defense was what he was taught was honorable, it did indeed seem to be safer to do it Cyndernose's way.

Feigning an indifferent shrug, Martin dodged the hypothetical arrow and took option three.

"I dunno. Did you?"

The hare smiled; Martin could tell even through the bandanna by those dimples forming again. Seemingly on a random burst of energy, Heaghan Light performed a stunning backflip from his standing position and upon landing bellowed loudly with laughter.

"Hahahahaha! I hear all sorts o' noise, doncha know!" he grinned broadly, showing all his blunt teeth, "Say, did you hear that just now? Like a flower being crushed in a paw?" he frowned deeply all of a sudden, "I hear that all th' time. Rather sad sound. Like a screamin' bird, or a rock hittin' somebeast up the head..."

Martin drew back. Sure, he had always thought the hare Bone-Collector was mad, but this show neatly snapped his idea of madness in half. How such a beast could have that in his head, day in and day out, and continue to live was shocking. Even in his times of furious Bloodwrath Martin was not so unconscious of reality.

As quick as the spell had descended on Heaghan, it lifted. He perked his ears up and waggled a paw in one.

"Well, that's done an' over with. C'mon then, to pasties we go! No laggin', or y' might not get any tuck!"

Dazed, Martin followed, this time forgetting to even touch paw to sword hilt for confirmation that it was there if he needed it.

Behind a nearby clump of elder bushes, Husken and Doren exchanged looks and simultaneously suppressed a shiver. The elder ran a paw through his headfur and watched the figure of the mouse receding into the distance of the woods.

"Well," he said, "That just rips th' reason an' coolness right out of ya."

"You said it," Doren agreed, readying himself to crawl forward again. "Should one of us go an' report back? We can find each other's trails easily enough."

"Uh-uh..." Husken drew his dagger and stared hard at it for nicks and blemishes, "Too risky. Best stay with ol' Martin. He might need us in the next little while if things go nasty..."

Doren opened his mouth, but then shut it and scuttled forward. Husken watched his brother for a moment, then peered up over the cover of the bushes and scanned the area for watchers. There were none. Silently the chain of followers continued on their way.

* * *

"Get to the fun part, why don't you," Euren rolled his eyes and sipped the strong drink that was making him feel flushed and warm. Sitra stopped, interrupted slightly, and looked over to her Chief.

"My Lord... Please allow me to continue myself," she asked in a soft voice. The fox Chief blinked at her, the alcohol dulling his temper a bit, then a waved an apathetic paw.

"Ahhh, doesn't matter. You'll get around to it."

"Not wise t' drink spirits in this cold of weather," the squirrel grumbled. The fox didn't hear him, but his son did.

"Heheheh, but he's going to anyhow, so there!" he imitated his father's voice with near perfection. Unfortunately, that drew the big vulpine's ire.

"Don't you cheek me, Ioren," he growled, turning sharply and laying his ears down flat. "I'll tan your rump if I hear it again."

Slumping dejectedly, Ioren hid partially behind Kellos and the mousemaid curled up tightly under his arm. Tigand shook his head, feeling his numbed paws gaining new life for the first time in days. Not a few hours, perhaps a night, earlier and the two bands of creatures had been at each other's throats.

Now it was like the communion felt at Redwall Abbey, where the woodmouse was raised from orphanhood by the kind Abbeybeasts. Surely there were differences, but their attitudes were about the same. Even the gruff Chieftan of these Waterfoxes.

And "Waterfoxes". He had never heard of that tribe before. Not even in passing mentions by visiting Guosim or woodland otter holts. Tigand was not sure what that meant, but it gave him hope that perhaps they'd run into the vermin the lessons at Abbey School had failed to teach him about: The good ones.

"When's it get fun, eh? When's the mouse going to slay that hare?" Euran was persistant in his tipsy ramblings. Sitra put a calming paw on his knee.

"Soon, Chief Euran, very soon. Just allow me to tell the story and you'll hear the ending soon enough."

Twinflower craned her neck toward the entrance as the vixen carried on, listening for storm noise. It was almost unnoticable now. Smiling, the mousewife settled again beside her husband and two young boys.

* * *

Chieftain Audyl stood atop a high crest of a hill, the wind buffeting his silver cloak about. Zima stood stooped by his side, and together they were surrounded by a small gang of the fox's hunters, all armed with either spears or shoulder bows, swords and daggers at their waists. The sooty-nosed fox narrowed his eyes down the slope, staring at the rag-tag band that matched his look.

The creatures had come not an hour ago, a mixed crowd of weasels, stoats, rats, ferrets and a few foxes. They were led by a great tawny cat, a wildcat it looked, though he may have had the blood of some of the southern felines of the deserts and scrubs. There were fewer than thirty in their number, but they looked perilous anyhow. Cyndernose bet an acorn to roasted dove that they weren't a lot to be trifled with.

Or a lot you could trust to turn your back to.

However, a few of the rats and stoats in the band appeared to be missing tails. That roused the curiosity of the fox Chieftain, and though it sickened him to be within a few spearlengths of such barbarian rogues, he had to for the sake of information.

"Speak, intruders," Audyl drew himself up to his full height, and though it wasn't much it still looked quite impressive as he was on the hilltop, framed by the billowing cape, "How dare you trespass on my lands? What business have ya here?"

The wildcat stepped forward, glaring at the fox coolly and with a paw clenching and unclenching a roundhead staff, showing off the fearsome retractable claws.

"I am called Touras, the Unstoppable," he barked in a deep, fierce voice, "I come and go where I please, and do what I please while I'm there! What say you, fox, you challenge me?"

Audyl rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled, slumping in a relaxed manner. His hunters gave him a few glances but trusted that Cyndernose knew what he was doing.

"What, challenge you? For what?" the fox said with a smirk, "This land is already mine, I have more than enough fighters to cut you all down, and furthermore, your type bores me." The fox toyed with the handle of his long axe, "So I'd suggest ya follow along with my demands, or find yoreself in a world of pain."

"Grrraah!" the wildcat spat and spun his weighted staff. The rabble behind him all moved into a battle formation, spear-wielders in the front and swords and axes following. Just as they were about to rush the hill, Audyl put a paw in his mouth and gave three sharp whistle blasts.

The rest of the tribe's warriors, all armed with either bows or slings, rose from their hidden positions behind Touras's band, bowstrings drawn and taunt and slings whirling. The wildcat started as he turned, then hastily gave the signal to stand down. Cyndernose cackled and yawned, taking a few steps down the hill flanked by two spearbeasts.

"Now then, let's get to business." The fox took out his dagger and flipped it about in his paw, not needing to take his eyes off the feline to do so, "I notice some of yore stoat and ratty types have run into a bit of trouble. Any chance a big rabbit or a hare is to blame?"

One stoat who was near the front took a step back and put a paw to his rear embarrassedly. Cyndernose pointed to him with a deft claw.

"Oh? How 'bout you? Yore tail been chopped off by a madbeast?"

"Aye," the stoat mumbled, trying desperately to disappear into the band of vermin. Cyndernose nodded his head sagely.

"Ah, so this happened when?" Touras snarled and opened his mouth to answer, "Not you, ya great stinkin' tabby whelp. I was talkin' to the stoat, mind. Sit down!"

The vermin raiders where shocked as the fox whipped out his axe and thudded the haft into the wildcat's shoulder, forcing him to sit on the ground. Touras's stunned look said it all; never before had anybeast defied him, and now that it had happened he was at a loss for what to do.

"Talk to me, stoat," he turned to the beast with his tone much softer and forgiving, "When'd the hare do this to ya?"

"L-last night, Chief," the stoat said, dropping his cutlass in fear as the sooty-nosed creature leaned in towards him, "Honest, it was. He made off t' th' south o' where we was, but th' tracks stopped at th' gorge o'er yonder..."

Audyl turned swiftly, his brush slapping the stoat in the face and causing him to stumble backwards.

"Good boy," the fox sneered. He turned to one of the largest of the fox warriors, a huge gray-furred male, "Bind these blaggards' paws an' muzzles. If they resist, ya know where to send 'em. Put the ones that cooperate in th' hole until we can sort 'em out."

"Aye, my Lord," the huge gray beast winked and grinned at a couple of rats. The rodents were forced to drop the knives from their shaky paws as he stomped up, holding nooses for trussing them up. Audyl crested the hill, lending a paw to Zima as she struggled along as well, then looked back on the new prisoners.

"Hmph, snotfaced landpirates," he growled. "If they're telling the truth, Martin and our two foxes are sure to have run aground of the Bone-Collector by now."

"But... then what?" Zima wrung her paws, "They left this morning, and 'tis after noontide now. Do you think that maybe... the evil one has found them out..?"

"Nonsense, good elder," Cyndernose laughed softly, "Martin may seem a bit of a berserker, but he's got a brain. It may take him a while yet, but he'll get that villain. I trust that mouse." He drew his cloak about him against a cooling breeze, "That's a rare thing to say about anybeast."

* * *

Martin gasped as he pushed past thick, low-hanging wild grape vines into a clearing. At its center a gargantuan monolith stood, a vast piece of granite jutting up from the redtop grass and evening primrose, as if it had just fallen from the side of a mountain. The only problem was that any mountain was nowhere in sight. The warrior shaded his eyes with a paw against the lowering sun, spying a nook in the rock near the top half.

"Welcome to me humble abode, ol' Martin chap!" Heaghan sprung forward and bowed with a flourish. Martin tapped a claw on his sword's pommel and looked about skeptically.

"You live... on a rock?"

Heaghan Light burst out laughing, literally rolling about in the long grasses as he hooted like a tickled owl.

"Wahahah! Not on a rock, _in_ a rock, ol' thing!" He popped upright swiftly, grinning from ear to flopping ear, "See that little whatchamacallit hole thingie up yonder, where the bit juts out? Flippin' hollow in the bally stone, wot. Can't recall how it got there or how I came t' find it, but it suits me all the same!"

"It reminds me of... Never mind." Martin almost said. The hare's ears stood on end.

"Ooh... Don't tell me, I've got it...You've had friends with homes in the rocks?" Martin gave Heaghan a strong look.

"I used to live in one." he answered curtly, "That was a long time ago."

The hare ignored him, still chuckling endlessly, as he strolled up to the rockface. Tapping a paw on the side, the hare smirked as Martin gazed in awe as small rock slats rather like a flight of stairs slid out. Deftly and lightly as a squirrel treewhiffler, the mad hare ascended the small spiral of stone stairs and hopped into the small opening. Mouth gaping, Martin watched as Heaghan's shrouded face popped back out.

"Well, come on then," the hare called down to him, "No tuck if y' wait around out there!"

Reluctantly, Martin approached the obelisk and put wary paws on the stone slats. There was no doubting his ability to climb it, but he was unsure if there would be enough room up at the top to fight the Bone-Collector if he was forced to. He had a long sword, not a dagger. Was the space inside the rock even large enough for that? Scowling to himself, he began his ascent, paw over paw, not too speedily but sure-footed all the same. Whether there was space for his blade or not, he had to go. He had made a promise to Chief Audyl to at least try, and if there was one thing he father would not have allowed him to do, it was give up. He would fight the evil one bare-pawed if he had to.

Doren slowly stood from the shady space under a small willow tree after the Warriormouse had disappeared into the stone crevice. He looked down to see that his paws were shaking. Husken stood upright across the way and waved a paw to him. Doren waved back, then indicated with two claws raised, pointing them to the hole in the rock. Husken nodded, understanding the sign. Padding out into the clearing, he shaded his eyes with a paw and squinted westward through the trees.

"What d'ya see?" Doren whispered, coming to his older brother's side. Husken put a paw roughly on his snout, shushing him.

"D-don't talk out loud near the rock!" he hissed, pushing him to the low end of the clearing, near the trees. "I looked out there a ways. D'you know, I thought I could make out th' tribe hill on the horizon. Scary, eh?"

"So he was never more than half a day away?!" Doren shuddered. Husken took a quick look around in the woodlands, sniffing. "Ugh!"

"That ain't all I seen," Husken lowered his voice, "I coulda swore I saw a dust cloud headin' straight for home."

"Dust cloud? Like a herd of hoofbeasts movin' through?"

"Nah, not that big of one," Husken sat down in the concealing treeshade, a downed log between him and the great stone, "More like a band of creatures more our size. Funny, merchants don't come through here often..."

"What about armies..?" Doren chewed a hangclaw. Husken shrugged.

"Dunno. Th' last time that happened, Ole Cyndernose put 'em to flight right quick. I suspect th' thieves and brigands only stay around where the merchants go."

Doren sat beside his brother, uncorking a waterskin and taking a long pull. He stared over towards the bloom of one of the numerous wildflowers.

"I hope it's not foebeasts." Doren coughed on his water, "Gack! We've already got a Bone-Collector to deal with."

* * *

Inside the stonetop dwelling it was not very spacious, but there was enough room for Martin to seat himself a comfortable distance from the cavorting hare as he lifted a copper kettle from a cunningly carved hearth at the rear of the place. The mouse warrior cast about, his posture stiff and uneasy. There did seem to be just barely enough space to swing a blade, just. The walls were adorned with an odd collection of items, some of which the mouse could not even tell what they were. Among them were bones, of course, but strangely, near the hearth, was a painting of a slab of slate. On closer inspection, Martin could make out the beautifully rendered face of a haremaid, portly older hare, and a hedgehog wetnurse holding a bundle.

"Here y' go, Martin me matey!" the hare smiled cheerfully, hopping over the clutter between him and the Warriormouse and handing him a fired clay bowl filled with a dubious steaming soup. "Good, jolly good stuff! Made it meself, of course, with just a bit of th' fruit o' nature dear!"

Martin sniffed the contents of the bowl. It was oddly sweet, but also had a note of leek and cabbage. The mouse waited until Heaghan had his own bowl of stuff and had sat down by the hearthfire. Only after the Bone-Collector had taken a sip and licked his lips foolishly did Martin taste the concoction.

It definitely had damson plums in it, which with cabbage and leek was an alarming sensation. Martin politely took a second hasty drink and put the bowl down.

"So..." the mouse's eye was drawn to the slate portrait again. "How on earth did you come to live inside a stone, Heaghan?" He accepted a beaker of warmed amber liquid and held it in his paws, put did not drink just yet. "It's an odd way to live."

"Oh, yes indeed," the hare chugged about half of his drink, and Martin sniffed it. Taking a reluctant sip, he was relieved to find that it had no secret ingredient. It was plain honest dandelion beer. "Well, me ol' nurse used to sing an odd song t' me whenever we walked in the country, just to keep th' paws marchin', y'know. 'Home In The Rock' was th' name of it..."

The hare seemed to doze off, but then snapped out of it and ran a paw lovingly over the nearby slate. "Ah, yes... Dear ol' Dorma... How I miss th' ol' gel..."

"What happened to her..?" Martin sat transfixed, an odd cold feeling running up his spine and back down his chest. He felt that he would definitely not like what Heaghan was about to say.

"Oh, y'know... The ol' deal," Heaghan sniffed. "Pater was a bally Long Patrol Captain, doncha know. Mater made th' best crumbly apple crisp in th' middle country, an' Dorma... She were the sweetest beast ever t' be born." He grinned, "Taught me a flippin' load of songs, verses, rhymes. And how to make ales an' cordials. Always wanted to be a cellarhare. Must be why I live in a hole, wot wot?"

"Must be." Martin kept his tone level, only speaking to humor the creature and keep the information rolling. He was not sure why he wanted to know more. He was not really thinking to hard at the moment, keeping his paw near the hilt of his sword. But the cave, the old nurse... Something was living in the back of his head, nagging at him and persuading him to listen further to the mad one's words.

"Well, some seasons ago th' thing happened. Pater always knew it would. Bleedin' vermin came in from the south and east, put fire to the fort an' sacked us, foxes, aye. 'Twas only ma, pa, Dorma, meself an' a few chambermaids. Pater died doin' what he did best-_-_layin' down th' law to vermin scum. Dunno what happened to mum. Maids all got captured, prob'ly took away to be slaves someplace. An' poor Dorma, her lot was worst of all...!"

Martin felt sick suddenly. Looking the hare back over, he could now tell exactly what was marring the figure of the Bone-Collector. Heaghan seemed to notice, and with a crooked grin, turned his hindquarters slightly so that the horrified warrior could see it better.

"Yes, yes." the hare's eye sunk back into the sockets slightly as he lowered his chin but kept his gaze centered on Martin, "Poor Dorma, those blighters took her tail away. But I'll find it. I'll find it, they're hiding it." Heaghan Light stroked the furless patch where the limb had once been.

"I'll find it, you'll see. The vermin are hiding her tail an' I'll get it back for her. Some are in disguise though. Have you seen them? Think they can fool me, dressing up like a mole or an otter. But I'll find it, sure I will. One day, I'll get it back, and then Dorma will come back to me!"

* * *

O.O Oh dear. I've made a paranoid schizophrenic in the most terrifying form possible: Giant anthro-rabbit. Um... reviews?


	7. The Storm Abates

**Ahaha! It's come back to meh! Here's the next installment of the tale, and a real game-changer! :D**

* * *

Three Tales, One Story

In the Tradition of Brian Jacques's Redwall Novels

* * *

Chapter 6:

The Storm Abates

* * *

Evening had fallen, and a chilly breeze swept over the hills and woodland groves above the grasslands. Martin sat huddled at the base of the great monolith, a ragged blanket about his shoulders. He had excused himself to take the air, and expressed that he really wasn't used to being indoors and needed a bit more space. The stars were beginning to come out, some muted and faded, others bright and blissful. There was nary a cloud to obscure them. Only the cold made the scene even slightly uncomfortable.

The mouse heard a rustle in some willowherb bushes nearby, and his eyes shot to the area with an intense glare. After a moment's wait he was relieved when a familiar face slowly peeked out from around the fronds.

"Doren," Martin whispered, trying hard to be both quiet and audible to the fox. "It's clear."

The fox approached at a crouch, watching the entrance to the stone hovel intently until he was safely in the shadow of the monolith on Martin's right side. He leaned over.

"So? What news?"

"... I'm not sure what to tell you," Martin answered. "The hare is the Bone-Collector, and he is ... mad."

"No surprise there," Doren sneered into the darkness, "But come, tell me more. What's the hare's name? What drives him to do these awful things? Could you defeat him? Did you see a weapon?"

The Warrior rubbed his neck and peered up towards the hole again. A faint light was emanating from within; it was the firelight. The mouse sighed.

"His name is Heaghan Light," he said, "From what he said and what I gathered... I believe some vermin creatures attacked his home and tortured him and his nurse when he was young. His motive then is some kind of sick vengeance..."

The fox nodded and looked around.

"But why? Half the beasts he attacks aren't rats, weasels or foxes or anything."

"He can't see that," Martin shook his head, "I'm surprised he could tell I was a mouse. I'm surprised he could speak. He's that maddened..!"

Doren half stood at Martin's rise in volume. Seating himself again, he picked at a sore tooth with a claw.

"Are you in danger stayin' around here then?" The fox peered over his shoulder, "Husken and I were thinking I could go and report this to Chief Audyl, while he stays to help you if you need it."

"Go ahead," Martin said, staring at a patch of pine tar on his pawpad, "For some reason this Bone-Collector doesn't seem disturbed in the least by me being here. He must think I'm his friend." The mouse forced the bile back. "I think I'll go along with this if he'll allow it."

"Good idea," the fox stood, preparing to slink back towards the woods to begin his errand, "But be careful. You never know with mad creatures. Give my brother a shout if anything seems suspicious."

"I will."

"Good luck," Doren took off, skittering through grass tussock and between treetrunks. Martin watched him go, then wondered where Husken had gone. He seemed the better tracker and more experienced camouflage expert of the two brothers. He was probably well dug-in somewhere at the edge of the woodlands, deep in shadow and invisible to even night birds. Martin lowered his head to his chest and feigned sleep.

There was the hope again that Heaghan would creep up, a blade in paw, and strike, giving the warriormouse a clean, honorable excuse to put an end to such a horrendous, yet pathetic, killer. But minutes rolled by, and the hope began to fade. It did not seem as if a turn-around in the hare's demeanor was likely. At least not tonight.

* * *

"Awaken old bob! Heheheh!"

Martin's paw shot to where his sword lay across his lap as he was thrust into wakefulness. He whipped around and spotted the hare hanging by his claws on the side of the rock, leaned back directly overhead with his head upside down.

"Good...morning Heaghan," Martin said, relaxing somewhat. More ridiculous antics in place of darkened babbles in the light of day. It seemed to be what the hare was made for. The switches were so smooth and subtle, it was hard to tell when he was about to make them.

"Care t' join me on a jaunt, ole thing?" Heaghan flipped backwards off the rock face and slid by his claws to the ground a step away from where Martin was standing up, "Not too far into the bush, y'know. Promise o' good tucker from me ole chum Jeggo squirrel."

Martin's head popped up at the mention of a name. He would not have thought that anybeast would befriend the madbeast without the intention of putting him out of his misery.

"Jeggo squirrel?"

"Aye, me mousey matey-_-_Jeggo the squirrel. Master treewhiffler, expert vermin-tracker, and a damned good cooky too if I may add-_-_" the hare clapped both paws over his mouth and drooped his ears at the utterance of the curse word, then exposed his yellowed teeth in a gleaming grin, "Ah, a darned good cooky, doncha know. Good fellow, most affable. Knows how t' put th' 'wheeze' in weasel and the 'fair' in filthy ferret, uh-huh!"

"... I see."

"Lives right yonder, past the pine groves and over a nice cool stream from the mountains east. Not far at all!"

"Very well." Martin slung his blade over his shoulder in its leather sheath, adjusting the straps over his tunic to make sure it was on securely, "I should like to meet this Jeggo creature. Have you been friends long?"

"Bless m' soul, has he?" Heaghan chuckled and clapped his paws to his knees, "Ole fella found me after the vermin scum were done with me. Raised me right."

Martin swallowed nervously, the darkest thoughts of what to expect from this mystery squirrel surfacing. The weight of his sword on his back reminded him of his duty, but he pushed it to the side. If the squirrel had reared the mad hare which had gone rotten inside, the squirrel responsible for allowing this couldn't be much less rotten. Somebeast was to blame for the vileness this poor insane creature was driven to commit each day and night. Perhaps he could find the conviction to end Heaghan's life by seeing who had made it impossible to tolerate...

Somebeast else had to be to blame. He wondered as he stepped lightly into the brush following the trail of Heaghan if maybe... The hare could have become a better beast if the Warriormouse had found him sooner.

* * *

Touras, the _formerly_ Unstoppable, lay in the place the foxes of the plain called "The Hole". The name was a description fitting enough; his thirty pillagers lay with their paws bound behind their backs in a broad circular hole, no taller than the wildcat himself but sheer and impossible to climb out of with the restraints on. At least two sleek fox warriors stood sentry by the edges of The Hole night and day, armed with the long, barbed spears the tribe seemed to favor. The feline suppressed a growl, knowing it would draw attention from their jailors. Twice had members of his motley band been pelted with small stones or given a sound ribbing with the butts of warspears for crying out, cursing the foxes, or weeping too loudly.

Wriggling forward, Touras sought his strong right paw, a rat who was called Beol. Beol was easy to spot-he had no ears, by his own choice. They were too easy to tear or be shorn off in battle, so he had removed them himself. The same was true of his whiskers, and any place on his body which grew long patches of fur. He wore only light chainmail tunic and form-fitting leggings, more to keep the foe from grabbing on.

"Beol," the wildcat hissed towards the prone form before him. The rat did not stir, but the vermin leader knew him to be listening. "We must escape. Have you got a plan yet?"

"In a moment, Lord."

Touras was filled with fury. How dare his rat lackey ignore him! Before he could raised his head to give the rodent the last bite to the neck he'd ever feel there was a snapping sound.

"Much better." Beol rolled over to face the wildcat, whose mouth was still agape. The mangled rat's paws were free, "Now is the time for plans, Lord."

"How did you..." Touras stammered into quiet as Beol sat up and lightly tossed the frayed rawhide strips away. The rat looked on him very seriously, his golden eyes popping from his slate grey fur.

"Teeth," he answered. He bared them, yellowed and chipped as they were, but still capable of severing hide strips given enough time. The rat would have asked the wildcat why he had not thought of the same idea, but he remained silent. Wannabe Warlords were not the brightest of stars, but they were quite proud of what little mind they chose to exercise. "I think if we bide about here for a while yet, an opportunity to escape will come."

"An' how do you know that, earless?" Touras was no longer in his better moods, shifting where he lay in a dangerous fit, slitted eyes flicking.

"They're not killers, these foxes. They're simple craftsbeasts and foragers. Their warriors are their hunters. There's a world of difference between stalking birds and cutting foreign throats..."

* * *

Doren arrived back at his homeshare earlier than he had thought possible. Dog-like pants still straining his breath, he wandered into the quieted morning of the fox village. The sun was just beginning to rise, a carmine curtain over the hilly grasslands twixt North and Mossflower. The fox tracker stayed in the center of camp, on the hill peak surrounded by light-tipped hide tents, soaking in the beginnings of another hot day and the fantastic natural canvas before him.

Chieftain Audyl was likely not awake yet, and when he did waken, he would likely also need several minutes to compose himself from the throbbing that oft afflicted his temples. Doren snickered to himself, leaning casually upon a rack constructed of long bird femurs, used to hang up cooking pans to dry after they'd been washed. He was oblivious that what hung there was not pots and kettles, but daggers and axes.

A silver-furred sentry yawned nearby, ignoring the youngster in favor of sipping at warming brandy. It was nearing the end of a long shift guarding the unsavory types imprisoned in The Hole just to Doren's right, and he was beginning to abandon his task in favor of spying behind him for a much-needed replacement.

The sentry did not notice until too late the earless rat creeping up the side of The Hole's rim, holding a thong of leather and rising behind Doren...

* * *

Keemo and Koffera were seated on the very edge of their mother's lap, ogling wide-eyed at the vixen healer and clinging to folds of Twinflower's gown.

"What th' matter? Why you stop?" They protested, quivering whiskers. Sitra raised a paw and craned her head to the entrance of the fissure, ears bolt upright and motionless.

"Hush, small ones." She rose. Euren blinked in sleeplessness and blundered upright, but struck his head against a rocky outcrop.

"Damn, blood, fire, murder, _aggggh_!" He grabbed hold of either side of the cavern to keep himself from tumbling straight into the laps of the mice, "Thunder..! Thievery..! Blast..! Stinkin'...! Ran outta curses..!"

"Forgot 'Hellsteeth' an' 'by th' fang'..." Kellos smirked. The fox Chieftain smiled with his full set of pointed fangs.

"Right. Thank you. I needed that help, y'know."

The bickering was ceased by a harsh shout and a strangled shriek from outside the cavern. This time Euran judged the height of the ceiling correctly and went crashing out, unarmed but still quite large and intimidating. Kellos bounded out next, almost abreast with Ioran, with Tigand following. In the exit the woodmouse turned back to his whimpering young ones and alarmed wife.

"I'll be right back, dear ones." Swift as shadows passing he slipped out the passage.

Outside sounds of chaos reigned, only marginally muffled by the thick coating of snow the storm had put on. The sun at greatest winter height beamed down upon the strange scene. Sitra had a hedgehog twice her weight in a headlock, his spines beginning to shred the lapel edges of her fur parka as he wriggled to get free. She was continually having to spin the beast about, keeping his massive body between her and a highly irate otter. The otter was the only creature who was armed; she carried a sling which she was continually swinging and aiming, but having to stop herself from firing as the vixen shimmied her hostage into the space she was aiming for.

Euren came bolting down the humped hillside, sliding down the snow-slippery embankment and into the even glade where the battle was unfolding. He could tell that some more violent passage had gone through the same way-_-_Deep scores and ruts already marked the snow as he came to it, and a few snapped-off spines littered the ground. Kellos shaded his eyes from the high sun and spied a group of even more beasts rushing to the hedgehog and otter's aid. They looked mostly small, like mice, but with a few tall creatures as well. And there were certainly enough of them to subdue three unarmed foxes.

"Stop!" The squirrel tucked and rolled down the hill, coming to rest on his stomach with his brush full of flurries, "Stop! Stop, goodbeasts! Th' foxes are friendly!"

Timing was not Euren's strong suit, but he couldn't really be blamed as he was barreling on course for the first beast that entered to glade to help the attackers before Kellos's shouts had even begun. Lowering his shoulder he struck a fat vole dead-on, launching the much smaller beast over his ginger back until he crashed down with a whumph in a drift. The Chieftain turned on the otter, reaching out for her sling paw and snarling to the pink and black gums.

The otter retaliated by swishing her rudder tail high at the vulpine's lowered face, slapping him straight across the snout and eyes. He staggered backwards until his left footpaw found an uneven patch of ground, then keeled over into the powder. The otter turned with a fierce scowl to her downed adversary, raising the sling again.

A gray-furred paw lashed the kelp-weave weapon from her paw from behind. The otter turned, snapping, but stopped when she saw that it was not another fox but a tall squirrel that had disarmed her. She put a paw up to her neck and gaped.

"How many times I gotta scream it, riverbonce?" Kellos was oblivious to the ottermaid's sudden change of attitude, advancing on her and shaking the paw clenched around her sling, "I said th' foxes were with us! What gives ye th' right to go poundin' on ole healer vixens in midwinter hardness any'ow?"

"A...Excuse me?" The otter was over her budding feelings of romance, "We weren't poundin' on nobeast! That sly vixen crept out of th' rocks right next to us! We were defendin' ourselfs!"

"Grrrn, right, missy! Hrrrrrngh, summone get dis foxy offa me afore I chokes!"

Sitra, knowing that peace between the vermin and goodbeast clades was often a dangerous balancing act, released the hedgehog voluntarily. The creature crawled away on all four paws, massaging his throat. Kellos threw up his paws.

"Done! See, she ain't attackin' you lot no more. An' he ain't either." The squirrel pointed out Euren, just getting to his footpaws and shaking snow from his ruddy mane, "Ain't that right, big Chief?"

Euren bayed out a low growl to himself and glared at the small ottermaid that had trounced him, but put up his paws in a show of peace. At that time, Tigand and Ioran came skidding down the hill.

"What in Hellgates..." Ioran began, earning a soft glare from his father for swearing. Tigand came over to his friend the squirrel and brushed some snow from his tailbrush.

"Who're these beasts? And why were they attacking Sitra?"

"Cos it attacked-_-_Uuumph!"

The ottermaid had slapped her paw hard over the hedgehog's snout, sighing.

"No _she_ didn't, oatbrains. They already kind of explained that."

Kellos blinked. He did not remember explaining anything except that the foxes were their companions. Ioran padded up to the tubby vole whose legs were still visible through the deep snow banks, wriggling in the air. Seizing them, he yanked hard and the vole popped free.

"Gwwaah!" The creature scrambled backwards halfway into the drift again, "Wot in... I say! Wot 'appened?"

"Attacked by stinkin' foxe-_-_Nnnnph!"

"No! We attacked them, I'm afraid. We made a bit of a mistake. We'd 'ave never thought the vixen was up to no good if we'd seen one o' you two good creatures with 'er..."

Euren snorted and held a pawful of snow to his closed left eye, still throbbing from the rudder smacking.

"Sorry, eh." Kellos stood by, hefty arms crossed, "I s'ppose we could let it slide. Who're you lot by the way?"

"We won't answer til them foxes-_-_Gnnrrph!"

"Sorry 'bout 'im... Bit opinionated, ya know..." The vole waddled forward, lifting from the churned snows a light pair of crystal spectacles and plopping them low on his snout, "We are a traveling band of entertainers, no more. We're called the Wondering Wanderers, tehheehee, oh, never mind, not funny." He waved a paw to the hedgehog and ottermaiden, "These two are Draunco and Calla, two o' me leading beasts. And I am Pinn. Just Pinn, thankee. Ah, and I see the rest of our merry band, er... charging to meet us... I'll just pop over an' see to it they don't carves th' lot of yew up..."

The fat creature was phenomenally fast on the snow, neatly scurrying atop it with hardly a dimple left. Tigand breathed a sigh of relief and exchanged glances with Sitra and then Euren. Euren breathed a congested snort of disgust.

"Fair nice reception, huh..."

"Where you lot bound to? There ain't many places 'ereabouts for a band of performers..." Kellos asked the ottermaid. She stared at him as if he had sprouted lilies.

"Redwall Abbey, seven leagues to the south, where else?"

Exhuberant, the squirrel whispered the news to Tigand, who brightened and hustled back up the slope to gather his family. Ioran made a pouting face.

"Does that mean we can't finish the story..?"

Sitra patted his shoulder fondly and handed him the last of their fruit-studded biscuits.

"We shall continue it at the Abbey, methinks..."

* * *

Whooo! On to the _really_ good parts, eh? The pith and marrow of the tale! XD


End file.
